The Whistle-stop
by adtoyfan
Summary: Uchiha Itachi is a local warlord, the rest of the Akatsuki are his rude, reluctant lackeys (they're probably just there to kill time) and our poor OC is undergoing some mild psychological torture. AU, Rated M for violence only.
1. Chapter 1

The Whistle-Stop

Masma was worried. It was market day again, and the pantry was looking rather bare. She couldn't put it off any longer. She had to go.

Standing in the kitchen, basket ready, fidgeting with her shawl, she wondered how it had come to this.

She used to love market day. The noisy merchants bringing news, the cheap trinkets she could (sometimes) afford, the smell of fresh apples brought in from their sister village to the west… Now she dreaded it's arrival every week.

He was to blame, that damn hooligan. Ever since he'd interfered with her perfect afternoon perusing the books a rare book merchant had brought in that week, her Thursdays had become a hellish exercise in anxiety.

-6 Thursdays ago-

There she'd been, minding her own business by the book merchant's caravan, when a cut-purse had dashed by, making off with her…well, her purse. That's what they were named for anyway. She hadn't been overly concerned – it had been over 2 months since she'd been pick pocketed. She was well overdue. The ridiculous crime rate this tiny village managed to support was mind-boggling. It was also the reason why she had an "outside purse" and a real one. She kept her outside purse half- filled with Iron bits, the smallest unit of currency there was; she used it to occasionally pay for the random snack (she loved street food - dysentery be damned), but mostly to distract the street-urchins from her real purse. Like any halfway-sensible villager here.

So, there went her outside purse, and after a moment of watching, she returned her attention to the book she was holding. Until she heard the distinct sound of a scuffle emanating from the corner alley she'd seen the boy enter. Like any local villager, she took that as her signal to exit stage left. Maybe head towards that potato stand on the other side of the village square.

Putting down her book wistfully, she turned to leave and came to an abrupt halt.

For some reason, this section of the market had been completely emptied. There was the stall she'd just bought apples from – unmanned, tent cloth flapping in the wind. A quick look around the alley that the walls of merchant's tents and caravans formed told her why. There, in the dark shade formed by the tent put up against the town clock, stood a group of young men. A more careful glance around revealed more guys milling about this section of market in similar groups of two's and three's.

Damn

How had she not noticed this? No wonder everyone had left. Lost in reading the book's introduction, she'd completely missed the arrival of the local criminal overlord's gang.

They had moved into the area 6 months ago, terrorized the Night Watch and picked off the majority of the criminal vermin that populated this village's underbelly. After a flurry of activity that incited general anxiety in the public, they had mysteriously quieted down. Now, apart from collecting tribute from the local gangs and disciplining the occasional rogue, they seemed to do nothing at all. Of course, except appear in public places to spread panic and terror _like right now_.

At least it was just the henchmen making this public appearance, and their leader was absent as usu-

Never mind.

Masma sighed inwardly at her luck as the Hooligan himself stepped out from behind the alley she'd heard the sounds of fighting come from. Behind him, one of his minions hauled the struggling cut-purse.

Ah. She was probably going to have to witness his beheading or something, now. Lovely.

The Hooligan was tall, imposing, with his hair long and held back in a loose ponytail. The wide expanse of the black robes he and his gang wore didn't give room for much else in the way of description, but one got the distinct impression that he was fit. Suddenly, he turned and headed down her way, facial expression speaking of extreme levels of boredom. The lines running from his eyes down to the corners of this mouth gave the vague impression of a scowl, which only augmented his bored look. His eyes though, told a totally different story. They were intense. So intense that their blackness seemed an even blacker black than the usual kind to Masma.

Wait, his eyes?

Damn it, she definitely wasn't imagining it. This hooligan was staring directly at her! While before she had hoped he would dismiss her presence and carry on with this public execution - or whatever he was going to do to that thief - now she began to get slightly worried. They drew closer, accompanied by the ripe smell of the thief's unwashed body. She was frankly surprised that she only had to suffer the amount of stench usually attributed to one body (the high population of slimy criminals among the villagers had given them the uncanny ability to attribute values such as amount of stench and amount of danger-sense to numbers of people). Apparently, Hooligan and his crew took personal hygiene seriously. Wonders never cease.

Suddenly, henchman no. 1, who she was having trouble even pinning down as a man with all that long blonde hair, made a violent movement in her direction. She flinched, but he was just tossing the thief at her. He lay in a crumpled pile at her feet, groaning.

A deathly quiet voice spoke.

"What do you say?"

Looking up from the thief, she looked at henchman no.1, but he hadn't spoken. That only left his boss. She gulped and peeked up at him from her lowered head. He was staring intently at the thief.

"S- S- Sorry!"

Smelly Thief's voice was thin and reedy, and it was hard to make him out with his teeth chattering like that, but she got the gist of what he was saying. He reached up toward her, his grubby fist clutching her now-stained purse. She didn't want to take it. Goodness only knew where his hands had been. Also, what the hell was this? Why was Baka Hoolingan Overlord making this man return her outside purse?

Confused she glanced at him. He stared intensely back. She understood the message.

Take the purse or I will string your corpse from the village gates using your entrails.

Gulping, she took the purse, holding it gingerly between her thumb and forefinger. Overlord blinked.

Approval?

"Maa, Itachi. Are we done here? I got shit to do, un!" Hooligan no. 1 spoke.

He directed his intense stare at blondie, who seemed completely unfazed, then turned - without so much as a word to her - and left.

-*NOW*-

Gathering up her wits, she picked up her basket and headed towards the door. Worrying, waiting for the other shoe to drop, wondering if he would show up again expecting some sort of reward - or show up for any reason whatsoever – was useless. He hadn't shown up for 6 weeks. What were the chances he'd show up now? She was probably safe

She sailed out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey everyone – I had posted this un-betad so I had to make several corrections later on, once I saw how many mistakes there were, lol. This is what happens when you rush a writing sesh.

Chapter 2

It had now officially been 1 hour of shopping and nothing horrible had happened. Her wicker shopping basket was two-thirds full, and she was eyeing a rather appealing looking bunch of grapes.

Standing here in the shade of the fruit stand, feeling up grapes and surrounded by the sweet citrus-y smell of fresh oranges, Masma felt slightly silly for the overblown worrying session that she'd had in her kitchen. After all, there was a reason that she'd been surprised to see the Hooligan Overlord at the market – it wasn't exactly a gang 'scene', was it? Why would the average good-for-nothing be interested in deliciously fresh farm produce? That bunch probably ate meat every day, and for every meal. Also, goodness knows none of them cooked, or anything. They'd probably been coercing a nearby farmer's poor wife into tending to their culinary needs. That appearance had been a freak, once-in-a –lifetime incident. In the wake of this brilliant epiphany, Masma closed her eyes in relief, enjoying the cool shade of the fruit stand and feeling the tension she'd been harboring in her shoulders all morning melting away. Yes, that had definitely been a one-time-only fluke –

"Ma'am, are you buying or not?"

Her eyes snapped open in total confusion, which was closely followed by the beginnings of a feminine outrage. She glared at the fruit-seller that she'd been giving her business for years in disbelief. Had he just…had he just hurried her along? Sim _knew _that fruit-choosing was a delicate process. He never _ever_ hurried anyone up, yet here he was, rushing one of his oldest customers. More importantly, had he just called her _ma'am_? Ma'am? MA'AM? Was he implying that she did, in fact, look like a 50-year-old spinster?

Before her thoughts could escalate to an intensity that mere caps lock would be hard-pressed to express, however, she was distracted by the fact that her soon to be ex-fruit seller wasn't even bothering to look her in the eye as he insulted her patron(age). His gaze was flickering between his busy hands, which were inexplicably packing up his stand even though it was only noon, and something farther down the street. As a matter of fact, now that her eyes were open and she wasn't seeing through a red haze (well, she still was, but it was slowly fading) she noticed that a lot of the merchants were packing up their wares in a way that couldn't seem to decide if it was frantic or surreptitious. And they were all doing it with one eye fixed on something further down the street.

Masma felt a cold pit settle in her gut.

She closed her eyes and heartily wished that the local inn had caught fire, and that that was what had everyone's attention. Yes, of course. Merchants would want to pack up and move their highly flammable wooden wagons away from a fire, right? That was most definitely it.

She slowly opened her eyes, laid the bunch of grapes down and turned to stare at the fire too.

Sadly, it was not Mr. Sauther's livelihood going up in flames that everyone was staring at.

Instead, it was exactly what she had first suspected.

Overlord was making his leisurely way down the street.

A quick glance at the dark shadowy bit of wall that was always formed by tents pitching up around the town clock which should have revealed the rest of his posse melting into existence was…empty. Glances at the rest of the shadowy nooks and crannies that should have been prime candidates for making a stealthy appearance were likewise fruitless.

Huh.

Would you look at that?

Baka Overlord was operating…alone?

Well, it's not that she didn't think that he couldn't spread terror and mayhem on his own – according to rumors from 3 towns over, he had completely crushed the entire Night's watch. Unarmed, mind you. Simply because they'd had the audacity to walk around with bright lanterns when he was suffering a hangover from his morning drinking binge (who had morning drinking binges, anyway?).

But she'd sort of begun to imagine that the rest of his crew was something akin to his security blanket, and that he was theirs as well. It was an amusing thought, to imagine that these big, bad criminals had some sort of weak co-dependent relationship going on.

Masma smirked slightly, then let that smirk fade when she realized that, once again, Baka Overlord Ita-whatever was staring right at her. He'd even crossed the street to the side that she was on. He had a very determined set to his shoulders that spelled definite trouble. A quick glance to her right told her that Sim, having packed his cart up and locked it, had melted away.

The rat bastard.

Looking back at Ita-something, she groaned and tried to mentally prepare for whatever fresh hell she had in store.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: We'll get a taste of Itachi's POV with this entry. Yaay! Go ahead and review - let me know what you guys think**

Itachi was fuming.

He'd left that poor excuse for scum very clear instructions to inform him as soon as the girl made an appearance at the market. Instead, the cremlin had only just let him know – citing poor excuses for his lateness.

Apparently Itachi was "too well guarded" and it had been "difficult to get past his gang members" to access him. A likely story.

Itachi knew what to do with likely stories.

Maybe the man would be a little more careful about what kind of stories he spun once his tongue had healed.

He could hardly believe that he had been reduced to relying on the second-hand reports of a slimy cut-purse anyway. But he reminded himself that he had no choice. According to Deidara, he had communicated entirely the wrong message when he'd last had an interaction with the lady.

He had found this hard to imagine, as he had defended her honor as well as her property by catching the slime streak that had robbed her (without a gang-issued license for his activities, by the by). However, apparently, the manner in which he had conducted himself had been declared "shifty at best" and his eyes had communicated "something about hangings and entrails".

As tempted as he was to disagree with Deidara's assessment - after all he didn't consider the blonde a good judge of atmosphere, or social cues, or anything really - the man did seem to have a greater understanding of women than he did. The entrance to his private quarters was like a revolving door, and Itachi would wager good money that he had deflowered every farmer's daughter that was of age in a 10 mile radius of their base.

Her failure to reappear on the next market day had only reinforced his suspicions that she had misunderstood his gestures.

Therefore, to avoid spooking her, he had elected to have a lookout keep an eye out for her so that he could ambu- err...approach her once she'd gotten up the nerve to attend market day again. Having her not hear any mention of his lurking around was bound to bring her out in a week, tops.

Right?

Wrong. It had taken 6.

But she was here at last. He could actually feel the ghost of an emotion as he strode through the crowd in the direction she'd been seen in last (it would actually be more accurate to say that he strode _past _the crowd, since it parted neatly into two ahead of him). This emotion seemed familiar. It had been a long time since he'd felt anything properly, though, and it was hard to place. His pace slowed down as he thought about it. It reminded him of his childhood…of bullying his bratty little brother…

Ah.

Of course.

This was what the peasantry referred to as excitement, right?

Marveling at the fact that he could actually feel faint whispers of an emotion other than "smirking" – Deidara claimed that it was not mirth that he experienced at those times, but a sort of sadistic thrill that could only be described as "smirking" – he sped back up and turned a corner.

Aha.

There she was.

He watched her take a deep breath and close her eyes. The lines of her shoulders softened as if a large burden had just been lifted off of them. The curve of her neck was doing strange things to his stomach. It seemed to be making a feeble attempt at…jumping? That was two alien feelings now. His determination to explore this reaction to her was growing.

He began making his way down the street, keeping his eyes on her.

He caught her reaction to something said by the fruit vendor whose cart she was standing at. Her eyes snapped open, jolting her out of whatever reverie she'd been caught up in. She seemed surprised at first, but he watched her grow slowly indignant, then angry. The fire in her eyes replicated that strange feeling in his abdomen. It was…vaguely pleasant. All the same…

His eyes flickered to the vendor.

He would pay for her displeasure.

Then, he saw her start to look around, noticing the weaklings scurry this way and that to avoid him. Damn. He hadn't wanted her to notice his presence right away.

That fruit vendor would pay double for this.

Again, she closed her eyes. The tiny furrow in her brow gave the impression that she was wishing very hard for something. She seemed to spend a lot of time with her eyes closed, he mused.

When she opened them this time, she turned to look down the street, directly into his eyes.

As if by some sort of magical pull, he crossed the street to her side and quickened his pace before he even realized what he was doing.

However, as he got closer he was forced to admit once and for all that Deidara had been right in this matter. Once the flicker of surprise passed, it was plain to see that her eyes were filled with dread at his appearance.

He didn't know what she thought of him, exactly, but while fear and more fear was the reaction that he strove for with most people, he definitely did not want that to be hers. He would definitely be rectifying this.


	4. Chapter 4

The Whistle-stop, Chapter 4

_**Masma**_

Overlord whats-his-face came to a stop a few feet ahead of her. His eyes still held that dark, determined fire she'd grown accustomed to seeing in them.

Masma took a few seconds to bemoan the fact that she'd had the opportunity to become accustomed to anything about a criminal. Anything about this particular criminal, especially.

When those seconds stretched into almost a minute, she began to wonder why he wasn't making any moves to disrupt her train of thought. Her puzzlement must have shown on her face, as he immediately stirred into action. His lips parted, as if he were about to speak.

Then they stayed that way.

The silence stretched on.

Unable to bear the suspense, and probably driven more that a bit insane by 6 weeks of worrying - and then having her worries come to life - Masma began, "Um…"

Then she realized what she was doing. She nearly clapped her hands onto her mouth, shocked that she'd had the gall to try to speak before spoken to. But, deciding at the last minute to give the impression that she knew what she was doing, she clenched her fists and powered through the urge. In for an iron bit, in for a copper, she told herself. Then she continued,

"Can…I help you?"

Blast! That came out wrong!

'Um…can I help you?' Really? She didn't think that she could have managed to make that come out more sarcastic if she'd tried. She sounded like Mr. Sauther's moody teenage daughter when she was left manning the counter. If you didn't immediately tell her what you wanted she would treat you to a mix of condescension and sarcasm of a quality that only an adolescent could muster. Many a time she had left his inn full of the gnawing need to prove that she was not a slack-jawed dullard.

She screwed her eyes shut and cringed as she waited for retribution. Perhaps he would make it quick and painless.

_**Itachi**_

The lady was making a truly astounding face at him.

With her head moved that far back and her face all scrunched up like that, she looked remarkably like…a pug.

To his further amazement, he began to feel the urge to…smile. Perhaps even chuckle. He managed to keep a straight face, however. It wouldn't do to have the rodents see him as even remotely human. To reinforce this, he cast a glare at a scurrying townsperson and was satisfied to see the man nearly piss himself. Turning back to the lady, he tried to make sense of whatever she was doing to her face. It took him a few beats but he figured it out. She was in some sort of…prolonged flinch.

Ah. So that was it.

He then deduced that she was having a reaction of gut-wrenching fear from talking out of turn. This was common among the rode- err…townspeople. Fear drove them slightly out of their minds and made them do something reckless – perhaps look him in the eye, or speak when they have not been spoken to – and when they regained their senses, they were frozen with the realization of what they'd done.

He thought back to what he usually did in these situations to ease the reaction. He then belatedly realized that he was being foolish. Why on earth would he ever have eased the mind of a rodent that had dared to look him in the eye? There could have been no precedent for this situation.

Very well then, he decided. He would just do the _opposite_ of what he usually did to amplify their fear. That would probably work…right?

Let's see, he mused. What techniques did he usually use…?

Ah, ok, here was one - he would ignore them and let them wet themselves imagining that it was because they were as good as dead anyway, and therefore as worthy of his attention as a rotting corpse…making the alternative to _not_ ignore her? He was already doing that, to no effect. He dismissed that plan.

Hmm…well, last week he'd made one faint by looking directly at him – though to be fair, Deidara had said that he was glaring, even though he'd only meant to glance…at….him…

Itachi had an epiphany.

Oh dear.

This is what Deidara had meant when he said that she had the wrong impression of him. All the time that he'd spent looking at her - had she actually thought that he was glaring the whole time? He went through a quick recap of the events in the market 6 weeks ago and added in this new angle. Oh wow. If he'd done all that sidling out of an alley and manhandling of another man all while glaring at her, of course she'd panicked.

He felt a sinking feeling in his gut. Now, here she was, convinced that he was going to cut her down for unsolicited speaking. How was he ever going to have any kind of normal interaction with her?

Attempts to soften his expression while her eyes were closed were fruitless. Mainly because he had no mirror with which to see what changes he had wrought, but also partly because his face had a pretty limited number of default expressions: bored, mildly upset and Grim Reaper (naming courtesy of Deidara).

_**Masma**_

The arrival of what she was hoping to be a quick and relatively painless demise now seemed to be dragging out, much like this entire interaction. After dithering about whether now that she had closed her eyes, it would be impertinent to open them without his leave and relax her pose a little bit, she remembered that he was going to kill her anyway and took a peek.

Several of what she could only assume were spasms seemed to be running across Overlord's face. His mouth seemed to be twitching in what on the surface appeared to be a horrible approximation of a smile, but given his general …self...was most likely a grimace of bloodthirsty rage, Masma concluded.

Well, if he was going to take his time, she mused, perhaps she should run?

She should put up some sort of struggle, try making this difficult; and she should do it now while he was in the midst of his…paroxysms. Before he noticed that she was no longer frozen in fear.

She glanced furtively around at her avenues of escape as much as she could without moving her head. Her best bet was probably to start off by back-pedaling frantically – to keep an eye on any incoming attacks - before turning around and going into a full-out sprint. Clumsy as she was, backwards would not have been her first choice for direction of retreat, but at least now she wouldn't have to worry about bumping into anyone since they had all _abandoned her _(Sim, that slimy rat!).

A quick count of 3 and she was off! One, two, three steps…she could now turn around-!

…..and run directly into his chest.

He was behind her now, somehow.

_**Itachi**_

Alerted by the sudden return of her motor skills by her pathetic attempt at escape, Itachi was now blocking her route. He was slowly realizing that there was no need to reinvent the wheel (or any facial expressions) in this scenario. He would act like himself, not like one of the weak rodents that passed for men in this village.

He was an excellent person, of this he had no doubt. Her current opinion of him was no more than a misunderstanding. If she spent more time with him, doubtless she would get over it, and they could have a normal discussion. He would discover what his fascination with her was, exhaust it, and release her back into the wild…or whatever. Mind made up, he proceeded with alacrity to pinch a cluster of nerves at the base of her neck to knock her out then sling her up onto his shoulder, using his other hand to pick up her basket.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Itachi**_

A week ago, he would have allowed himself to falter in this scenario. But he was a different man now, filled with a sense of purpose. Even though a little naggy voice at the back of his mind theorized that it might just be a fresh healthy dose of narcissism.

A few minutes ago, while walking into his lobby, a very satisfied Itachi had been engaged in considering the logistics of caring for his new house guest. He was even going so far as to wonder about whether she would prefer blankets or furs when he was rudely interrupted by a gasping noise.

His minions were well aware of his feelings on distracting noises in his presence. Who the hell-

"Tachi! You didn't!"

He would never admit it, but 'Tachi' almost rolled his eyes

"What are you after now, Deidara? A quick - but very painful - death?"

Deidara ignored the death threat. They happened at least once a week.

"Please tell me that my eyes deceive me! Please tell me that that is not the corpse of the beautiful Masma lain across your shoulder!"

"You have only one eye. And why would I be carrying a woman's corpse around? "

"Oh, Itachi! I know how you struggle with the fairer sex! I'm pretty sure that other than that fling with Konan 5 months ago-"

"What exactly do you think that I'd be doing with it?"

"-and you've never been the squeamish type- "

"Dear Kami-sama,"

"- Oh! How tough times make tough men-"

"Shut up,"

Deidara, sensing that with that last command Itachi had almost raised his voice, wisely let that topic drop.

"So, if she's not dead, then what's going on here, hn?"

"I realized that by trying to interact with her 'normally' as per your suggestion, was foolish."

Deidara groaned, "What's wrong with a normal human-human interaction, for kami's sake?!"

"Do you know who else is normal, Dei? Do you know what kind of people have 'normal' interactions with each other all the time?

"Here we go again, hn…"

"The rodents, that's who. Do I seem like a rodent to you, Dei?"

"Aniki, you need to cool it with this rodent thing, hn..."

"No."

"Let me see if I understand the situation. She's not dead, meaning that she's unconscious. It's probably your own doing. So I can assume that you tried to talk to her, failed, and decided that on top of stalking then terrifying her, you would knock her out and abduct her. Have I got it right so far, hn?

"More or less."

"And you don't see anything wrong with this plan?"

"No."

"You're not afraid that this whole ordeal has traumatized her, that she is probably scarred for life, that she will not appreciate being kidnapped by the most ruthless criminal in the region, or that she'll probably hate you forever?"

"No," Itachi repeated. Though in all honesty, he hadn't considered that particular reaction. He had been so sure that she'd see the practicality of his plan over the more commonplace, slow, 'talk-and-spend-time-together' technique that the commoners used. In truth, his version was just a crash course of the same thing. Instead of approaching her in public places like the market, making conversation, and slowly gaining her trust with every encounter, they could just skip all the awkward gaps. All day, everyday. One-on-one time. Time in which his curiousity could be sated quickly and efficiently. Yes, his logic was sound.

"Itachi this will end horribly. Women have so little control in these parts, it only makes them mad to assert your authority over their lives even more, hn."

"Masma is not one of your milkmaids, so spare me your philosophizing."

"Where are you even going to keep her, hn? This place isn't fit for women. It's a lair, for goodness' sake!"

"That's never seemed to bother your milkmaids."

"They're not all milkmaids, hn! And that's because they only have to suffer it for a few hours! Not the rest of their natural lives, Tachi."

"Natural lives?"

"She's definitely going to die from fright when she wakes up. It might take an hour, it might take a week. But definitely- "

Itachi had almost faltered in his resolve. Almost. Here he found himself at the receiving end of another of Deidara's lectures on proper behavior. He nearly fell for it again. But he was not the rodent-imitating man from last week. And he had no idea why he was standing here explaining his actions to a minion.

"That will be all," he interrupted.

The flow of whining tapered off as his number 2 realized that he was being dismissed.

Itachi resumed his walk towards Masma's new quarters. He would have to refurbish one of the cells…

_**3 hours later**_

The refurbishment business turned out to be harder than he thought. Standing in the doorway frowning at the results of the last 3 hours' work, Itachi couldn't help but feel a deep dissatisfaction with the cell's – sorry, _quarters_' - decor.

He'd assumed that this would take 10 minutes, tops. But first, he'd had to wait a whole 5 minutes for the servants to corner and kill all the rats, then an extra 15 for them to lug all the hot water and soap from the kitchen and get to scrubbing the floors. He didn't even want to think about how long it took them to finish the cleaning. Moaning and groaning about 'dangerous mold'. He scoffed just thinking about it. A raised eyebrow had quickly reminded them what real danger looked like.

Then they had taken a whole hour to move the bed in. something about having to disassemble and reassemble a four-poster bed seemed to take them an unholy amount of time. Not to mention how long it took them to hang the curtains according to his instructions. He had grown exhausted supervising them from his cushioned chair, and had had to take a quick nap.

There was nothing to be done about the iron bars in the windows, they had been screwed in too deep. Likewise, the gentle sloping of the floor to a large drain in the centre – for blood, urine and the like – could not be changed. The more he looked at this room, the more he began to think that maybe Deidara had a point.

Maybe.

But probably not. His logic was sound.

He set off to acquire some clothing. Some things to fill the large closet he'd had moved in. In fact, now that he gave it a second look – he really felt that it would look better on the other side of the room. The servants would be notified.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: repost of chapter 6 with some editing done. Nothing major. Punctuation and the like. Thanks for the reviews, guys!**

**_Itachi _**

He popped into his study for a quick check-in on the girl, which told him that she was still unconscious. Satisfied that she wouldn't be up until he was completely ready for her, he set off in the direction of his minions' quarters. Sorry, his 'fellow gang members'. Now that he was about to forcefully acquire some of their belongings for his own purposes, he might as well get in character. Enter 'Caring Leader Itachi'.

He stepped into what Deidara referred to as the 'game room'. He preferred to think of it as it really was – the lay-about room. Where his good-for-nothing lieutenants lazed while they _should _be out there laying down the law among the village vermin-

He halted that train of thought lest his attitude leak into his conversation with these shiftless-

He closed his eyes and took an even breath.

"You there," he said, turning to the man closest to the entrance.

"Me?"

"Yes, you. You received some tribute from the Eastern Gang yesterday. I know that they hit up a clothes' merchant last week. Give me all the female clothing that was included."

The green-eyed man blinked, then seemed to scowl. Though it was hard to tell with the black mask covering half of his face.

"Give me all your stuff? That's it? Not so much as a 'hey, how are ya'?"

"I haven't the time for this, Kakuzu. Unlike you, I have more important things to do than lurk in the corner of the game room, dozing."

You may have noticed by now that 'Caring Leader Itachi' was only a tiny bit nicer than his normal self. In fact, the only noticeable difference was that he didn't dive straight into violence at the tiniest hint of insubordination. For which Kakuzu was lucky.

"Itachi, you know that I don't collect that shit for a hobby. I sell it. For money. And you know how I am about giving up-"

"My patience wears thin."

"And that would be a shame if I gave two shits about your-"

"Listen here, rat. What part of 'I have better things to do' escaped your comprehension?" Itachi asked in his calmest, slowest voice.

What little could be seen of Kakuzu's face above the mask paled slightly.

"Eh…."

"Are you challenging my authority?" Itachi continued.

"That's not what I-"

"Because it sounds like you're challenging my authority."

"Of course no-"

"I didn't appoint _myself_ leader of this unit. Wasn't it you lot that did that?" His tone sounded almost conversational now, if you somehow managed to forget who was talking. "I'm sure you remember how we determined who the _strongest_ was. If you have any misgivings about the process, you're welcome to try for-"

"That won't be necessary!" Kakuzu squeaked over the end of the sentence. His skin was clammy and beige now – as opposed to his usual dark brown – and his eyes wide with fear. Then he realized that he had raised his voice at Itachi, and nearly pissed himself.

"Oh no," Itachi smiled indulgently. It was the most terrifying thing that Kakuzu had seen in recent memory. "I insist. Tomorrow morning will be perfect. In the meantime, since I am still the leader _for now_, you will provide the items I have requested, and put them inside the cabinet in the lady's quarters."

"The lady's quarters, Itachi-sama?"

Itachi smirked at the honorific that Kakuzu had never used before today. Boot-licking rodent. He was still going to almost kill him tomorrow.

"The first dungeon on the right, Kakuzu."

"Oh, we've abducted a female then. The ransom must be quite something for you to do it personally-"

"We've not abducted anyone." Itachi snapped.

"Ah, forgive me, Itachi-sama. But you did say that you were keeping a female in the dungeon..."

"_Quarters,_ Kakuzu, the lady's _quarters_."

"What's this shit about abduction, eh? You fuckers started a party without me?" came a brash voice. A silver-haired man walked up to the pair. He stopped next to Kakuzu's chair and leaned heavily on the large scythe he was carrying.

"Ah, Hidan. Itachi-sama's keeping a girl in the dungeons. So go fish out any women's clothes from yesterday's tribute."

"Fuck that. Why are we giving a prisoner a change of clothing? What the hell is this, an inn now? And who died and made you the boss of me? Get your own shit, geezer! And what kind of ransom money are we talking here? Must be pretty big for Itachi to do it himse-"

"For the last time, she has not been abducted."

Silence followed for a few seconds.

"Yo, my man, you know that's what the fuckin' dungeons are for, right? For prisoners?"

"I am not imprisoning her."

"Well, generally, we use our bedrooms to bone, dude. If you need pointers, just look at Deidara-"

Itachi gritted his teeth and tuned the blathering out. Why was everyone being unreasonable? It was not so difficult to imagine that he'd be keeping a female in the dunge- in that place for non-criminal purposes, was it?

"-but yo! Mad respect, brah. You just acting like this isn't a big deal. I would be shitting myself scared that Konan would find out! Ha! He really _is_ a fearless leader, na, Kakuzu?"

"Indeed, Itachi-sama is-"

"And what the holy hell is this 'sama' shit, brah? If your nose was any browner right now, you'd stink to Suna and back-"

"Konan? What about Konan?" Itachi asked, distracted.

"You know the way she gets with female targets, man! Remember we had to skip that whole town once 'cos the local crime-lord was some chick? We even promised that we'd have taken her down gently, and shit. But Konan went crazy, yo. She threw such a fit; I would have sworn that she was going to cut off our balls as we slept! Ha! Good times, eh?"

Itachi did indeed remember losing sleep for a week. He wasn't sure how it had escaped his mind, but Konan's reaction to this would be worrisome indeed. When it came to female rights she was very cut-first-ask-questions-later. She would definitely take the dungeon situation the wrong way. Much like everyone else. He found himself wondering for the second time that hour if Deidara had been right about this whole plan…

Well, there was no use second-guessing himself.

"Make it happen," he said to Kakuzu. Then he turned and went back the way he came. That task had taken entirely too long. He needed to check in on his pris- guest again.

Assuming she had already been moved from her temporary location (the couch in his study), he headed straight for her _quarters_. And it looked like he was just in time. She was already beginning to stir when he opened the door and looked in.

Something about the way she stretched as she came to made his throat very dry. Once more, his gaze was drawn to her neck-

Where she was now sporting a bruise.

A cold feeling spread in his gut.

Well, it was more a lukewarm feeling, since nothing really ever scared Itachi.

That bruise was at the same spot that he'd pinched to knock her out. Though right now it looked more like he'd punched it. He'd been too used to dealing with street vermin. He must have used too much force. Unless maybe she bruised easily…?

She stretched her neck out and winced, then whimpered gently.

No, she was definitely in pain.

Itachi felt like the lowest rodent of all. He'd used force to drag her here, then stuck her in a dungeon. Deidara had been right. Probably.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I updated this chapter because of some light editing that I discovered I had to do when I reread it. Thanks for all the reviews, follows and favorites, guys! **** They really inspire me.**

Chapter 7

_**Masma**_

Kami's burned body! What the hell had happened to her neck? It felt stiff in the way an amputation felt like a cut. Had she slept with her head hanging off the bed somehow? With her cast-iron pot tied and dangling from her neck, too, maybe? Because that was what this felt like. And only one one side. Weird.

She blearily opened her eyes, then wondered why it was so pleasantly dark in her room. Usually, a chipper beam of sunlight managed to wiggle through a crack in her curtains and shine directly into her eyes. After blinking slowly and processing what she was seeing for a minute or two, she came to a realization.

This was not her room.

Or her living room.

Or any part of her tiny cottage.

This was, in fact…..

"Why on earth am I in a dungeon?!" she shrieked.

_**Itachi**_

"…dungeon…dungeon…dungeon…"

Her shrill voice echoed around the room, bouncing off the large ugly rocks; some of which were still wet from the manic scrubbing that they'd just been subjected to. Blood just doesn't come off that easily after months of neglect.

It figures that she'd side with Deidara on this whole dungeon thing. Was she going to completely ignore the fact that she was lying on a luxurious four-poster bed? What about the soft, deep rug on the floor that was conveniently hiding the blood drain?

There was just no pleasing some people.

Completely forgetting about the guilt-ridden epiphany he'd had just 2 minutes ago, he let himself the rest of the way into the room, sulking. At least on the inside. His face was set to its default 'mild glare'.

Most people would have coughed in an effort to get someone else's attention. Itachi had never had this problem. The cold aura that he had emanated all his life had always been enough to alert someone that he was in the room.

That rule didn't seem to apply to this woman, though.

Itachi's left eyebrow rose a fraction of a centimeter at her continued lack of response to his presence. Or at least it seemed to rise, if you believed that he was capable of any facial expressions at all. He decided to give her another 10 seconds. After all, she was merely a weak townsperson, unused to the rigors of adventure. She had probably even never been knocked out before. He chuckled (internally, of course). From what he was given to understand, majority of the 'normal people' lived sedentary lives, largely devoid of violence. Of course, there was a chance that that wasn't true. This came mostly from (unasked for) second-hand reports and hearsay (mostly from Deidara), since he himself had never stooped to observing the rodents' way of life.

After 10 seconds had passed and she was still moaning and flopping around on the bed, he began to get (more) weary of the situation. He reviewed his options. He could make some sort of innocuous sound to let her know that someone else is here, then act like he just came in. He had seen that particular move in several plays (that Deidara had cajoled him into attending in the nearby city). Or he could just walk up to her and say what he wanted to say. She probably wouldn't hear him approach, and it would appear that he had suddenly appeared by the side of the bed. In fact, hearing a voice suddenly speak by her elbow would probably scare the living daylights out of her.

He contemplated her shrill " Dungeon! Dungeon!" squeaking from earlier.

He found that his bruised ego wouldn't mind some suffering on her part, and found himself beset by a wave of 'smirking'.

_**Masma**_

Masma was still trying to figure out what was wrong with her neck by prodding at it with a finger when a voice came out of the gloomy corner.

"Are you always this noisy when you get up?"

From the way the voice created a cold pit in her stomach and thoroughly unpleasant goosebumps, she guessed that it was the Overlord himself.

Wonderful.

"Only when I feel like I've taken a sledgehammer to the neck," was her snarky reply.

Usually she'd be a lot more careful with the way she talked to him but her mother had always said that common sense abandoned Masma when she was in pain.

"That's not the way a sledgehammer wound feels. For one thing, you should have a lot less neck," the shadowy corner said.

"Well, excuse _me _for being inexperienced with beheading innocent villagers," Masma replied after touching a particularly tender spot.

"I haven't been beheading innocent villagers."

"Oh, so you've kept it strictly to abduction and torture? Lucky me."

"Abduction and torture? What do you mean, abduction and torture?"

"Is there an echo in here? Doesn't that make it really noisy when the torture starts in here? This _is_ a dungeon, right?"


	8. Chapter 8

_**Itachi**_

_"Is there an echo in here? Doesn't that make it really noisy when the torture starts in here? This __is__ a dungeon, right?"_

Itachi could hardly believe her nerve.

"I haven't had any complaints about the acoustics in here, thank you very much-"

"Did you try taking the gags out first?"

"-and I fail to understand what you mean by 'abduction and torture'. You have certainly not been abducted and if you are referring to that mild twinge in your neck-"

"_Twinge_!?"

"-then that should fade away in a short while. Frankly, I'm surprised that you can even feel it. Ten-year-old children have made less fuss about it than you have."

"What 10-year-old child has to suffer a sledgehammer to the neck? Who would even attack a little child's neck?"

"Me. And my father," came the casual reply. "More to the point, if you would stop having hysterics for a few seconds-"

"What do you mean 'me'? Did your father regularly inflict this on you? That sure explains a lot-"

"- and _stop interrupting me_, then maybe I could explain your situation to you."

Silence immediately followed this statement.

Itachi could hardly believe it. In fact, for a few seconds he believed that he had gone deaf. That's how impossible it seemed to him that the shrieking and whining had finally stopped.

"_Well_?" the woman managed to draw that word out into 5 extremely annoying syllables.

A feeling that he assumed was irritation began to rise from somewhere in his abdomen. Itachi could feel his face actually twitching. He closed his eyes and tried for some deep breaths. He failed miserably.

"That's it? Easy as that, you've quit your squawking?"

"Just get on with it, and maybe I'll let that 'squawking' jibe pass"

" 'Jibe' would be incorrect. I believe the word that you are looking for is 'observation'" – then, seeing her open her mouth to begin her squawking again, he continued– "Be that as it may, you were not abducted. If you would quit feigning amnesia for a minute, you would remember that my attempts to converse with you were fruitless, and that it was your fault. You cringed and squeaked and tried to run away. You are clearly unused to august company, and poorly equipped to handle it. I understand. Therefore, I decided to provide you with an opportunity to redeem yourself, and an environment in which to do so. That is all."

_**Masma**_

A brief silence followed his explanation during which Masma was attempting to digest this version of events while sputtering internally. The silence was broken when her incredulity levels took her sputtering outside.

"Wha- Bu- Whe-…"

The tornado of incoherent thoughts within her began to slow and order itself.

"Converse- when did you 'converse' with me? And you _understand_? Well, thank goodness one of us understands what the hell that speech was about, 'cos I sure don't! And _my fault_?" she – admittedly – squawked. More kept pouring out of her mouth.

"What do you mean _my fault_? August? How do you manage to keep to the ground? Shouldn't having that amount of hot air in your head keep you afloat? And another thing – you can't really believe that you're doing me a favor by kidnapping me, can you? You're absolutely insane, and delusionally narcissistic, but you're not an idiot."

"So you recognize my superior intelligence. Good," Itachi responded, ignoring the rest of that speech, "I had assumed that you would be stubborn on that point, what with your….tenacious…personality. Then, it should be simple for you to accept that I took the best possible action in that situation-"

"I take it back. Whatever intelligence you may or may not have is completely overridden by your crazy. More importantly, what was that pause before 'tenacious' about? If you have something to say, spit it out! What is it? Are you less than charmed by your _prisoner's _demeanor? Were you hoping for a touch more acquiescence? Maybe some zest, even?"

"I'm finding you zesty enough, thanks," came the reply, mildly snarky around the edges.

"Oh, wow, well _thank kami_ that I've finally done something right. I'm only a first time captive, you know,"

"For the thousandth time, you are not being held here against your will."

"Well, that's freaking strange, 'cos I don't remember being _willing_ to be here at any point in time."

Just as that kidnapping piece of scum was opening his mouth to retort, the heavy dungeon door slammed open.

A voice floated (and echoed) across the room in a tone she found jarringly irritating.

"All right, all right, that's enough, kids! Play nice!"

The blonde-haired henchman from the incident that sparked all this horror floated across the damp floor. Now that she thought about it, Masma mused, the entire place seemed mildly damp. Why was tha-

"I could hear your yelling all the way from directly outside the door while listening very hard at the keyhole!"

Not only did he interrupt her train of thought, but he was also spouting nonsense.

"Don't give me that look, honey. It's just a little gang joke, un. See, we have excellent soundproofing in our dungeons. So that adjacent sessions don't interrupt each other," he continued.

The longer he spoke to her in that annoyingly patronizing tone, the more jarring it became. So jarring in fact, that it shook her right out of her pain-induced rage haze.

Masma blinked.

It seemed like a literal haze of red was lifting from her eyes. The pain, which she had been ignoring in favour of yelling at the Overlord, had lessened to a dull throb during her inattention. With a growing dread, she did a quick review of the things she had said while under-the-influence…


	9. Chapter 9

**_Masma_**

The natural conclusion to come to is that, faced with the fact that she'd spent the last 15 minutes insulting the scariest man in the region, Masma would be out of her mind with fear over the consequences. However, she took a more practical approach to the situation; she figured that if he wanted to kill or torture her in retaliation, there was little she could do about it. On the other hand, if he didn't, there was no point in going back to the simpering and cowering she would otherwise have exhibited – if he let her informal address to him slide, that must mean that it is allowed.

Only halfway believing this rationalization, Masma turned to the Overlord and said," Make your friend stop talking."

Overlord's face did that thing again where if you squinted really hard, in your peripheral vision it would seem that he had a raised eyebrow. Then he turned to the blonde henchman and said, "Deidara, shut up."

"That's _it?_" came the reply, "You're just going to let the 'friend' comment slide? No speech about how you have no friends, since they are just a way for the weak-minded to soothe their ridiculous need for emotional fulfillment and their constant desire for approval?"

Ita- no, Baka Overlord seemed to roll his eyes.

Masma was dumbfounded. She had never imagined that the emotionless Overlord could have so many almost-emotions.

"The lady here seems to be suffering from some sort of headache, despite the lack of visible blood loss or trauma-"

"_Neck_ ache! And I don't appreciate your tone, thanks very much. As if only wounds serious enough to bleed should cause pain-"

"-Additionally, and more importantly, the sound of your voice annoys me, so it would be _appreciated _if you would not speak."

"You know, Itachi, saying 'appreciated' in that tone completely counteracts whatever effect you were hoping to attain by using polite words," Deidara replied, at great risk to his personal safety.

"- and why is _your_ mild annoyance with his voice more important than _my_ sprained neck?" Masma continued.

Seeming almost-perplexed, Itachi turned to her and said, "Because I'm more important than you are, of course. Are you certain that it is your neck hurting and not your actual head? Maybe someone knocked it against something as they were moving you. It would certainly explain your recent behavior…" he trailed off, squinting at her hair as if he was trying to locate a bump.

Now, Masma had a lot of things to be indignant about in that short speech, but she picked, "'Recent behavior'? You mean, like, getting upset that I've been attacked?!"

"No, I mean 'like' " – he took some time to scoff at this bastardization of the language – "your cavalier attitude towards addressing me, the region's most notorious criminal."

Well, that was an option that she hadn't considered. Maybe he was letting her rudeness slide because he thought that she was mentally deficient at the moment.

This left her facing the dilemma of whether she should fake a spell of dullness or sacrifice her well being for the sake of getting one more jibe in.

"Deidara, I am beginning to lose patience with you-" Itachi said in a tone that hinted only at boredom.

"Ah, yes, your prodigious patience-"

"Kindly remove yourself from my presence, and while you are at it, summon that healer person. Tell him to come immediately."

"It's a she, 'Tachi. She's been with us for 6 months, now. By now you should have learned her gender, at least-"

"A she. Of course," Itachi replied in a tone that said he meant, 'Whatever.'

"- and why do you need her? Are you injured?"

"Have you not been listening? She claims to have a sore throat, or something similar - "

"For the last time, it is a NECK ACHE, from when you brutally attacked me!"

"Yes, yes, an ache somewhere…brutally attacked…"Itachi waved her protests off as his eyes remained fixed on Deidara, almost-raising his eyebrow.

Sensing that he had overstayed his quasi-welcome, Deidara sidled away. He set off in search of the healer, still dizzy from the realization that Itachi had noticed anything about someone else's well-being.

**Itachi**

Something was strange about that bemused look on the ingrate's face as he finally left the dung- room just now. He would have worried about what Deidara had been thinking, but doubtless he would be receiving a blow-by-blow account of exactly that the next time he met him, so it would be best to put it out of his mind.

Turning to watch the woman once more, he realized that he should have asked Deidara to send some food along with the healer.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

**Itachi**

_Turning to watch the woman once more, he realized that he should have asked Deidara to send some food along with the healer._

Something niggled at the back of his mind to this last little thought. He tried to brush it aside, but it only niggled harder. In fact, it could be said that it had upped its niggling to a determined buzzing. Only mildly worried that he could suddenly hear things buzzing inside his head, he gave the niggle his attention. A thought was rising to the forefront of his mind, slowly. He felt….felt…

Wait.

_He felt_?

He blinked to clear his mind. No feelings. That's ridiculous.

He tried again.

He was coming to the slow realization that…in some vague way, he was almost…what was the word again? Ah, yes. _Concerned_. He was almost, in a vague sort of way, concerned for this individual's well being. He could not for the life of him remember the last time he wondered if a person should eat or not. Huh.

He decided that he did not enjoy this shadow-feeling. It took up entirely too much energy to maintain. In fact, he might be developing a slight headache from this departure from his otherwise meticulously uniform thought patterns.

He almost-frowned.

**Masma**

Still seething over the comment that his annoyance with Deidara was more pressing than any concern of hers, Masma sat there sulking and wondering how long this healer was going to take to get here.

She wasn't looking forward to more than 20 minutes of bickering with this man as her neck throbbed and pulsed. Though in all honesty the ache had reduced significantly, and she could sense that it would be completely faded by tonight. This didn't stop her from making a big deal about it, though. Baka Overlord deserved any and all grief that came his way for his actions. In her opinion he was given a startling amount of leeway with regards to complaints. She was going to milk this little bruise for all it was worth and them some…

Hmm

It suddenly occurred to her that she had been in his presence (awake) for more than 5 minutes without an argument breaking out. Instead of peaceful, she found it rather disconcerting. She turned to glance at him (exaggerating the stiffness of her neck's movement, of course) and found him looking oddly introspective.

Well, if a completely wooden lack of expression that was somehow still intimidating could look introspective.

Still watching, she was fascinated as the almost imperceptible movement of his eyebrows now turned the scary-statue face into a scarier angry-statue face. Though there seemed to be no overall change in his expression, he now gave the marked impression of a person that was frowning. Well past the bounds of common sense and the fear that its presence would invoke in her now, instead of cowering, she merely wondered what (else) had upset him now to herself. Then, throwing caution to the wind, she wondered aloud.

"What's got your panties in a bunch now?"

Amusement at the mental image of him in panties further lent to her recklessness, and she decided to get more questions off her chest.

"And how long is this healer going to take? Isn't this whole building a glorified barn? Seems to me she should be here by now."

"And the barns you've been in have got dungeons in them, have they?" came the distracted response.

"Well…no. I thought maybe you added this in yourselve- Hey! You just called it a dungeon! Ha. I knew it," Masma smugly declared. The effect was somewhat spoiled by the fact that the Overlord seemed to still be off somewhere in his thoughts, unable to appreciate her self-satisfaction. Also, his continued silence told her that he wouldn't be answering her other questions. She decided that her neck twinge had just ratcheted up to an all-out burning sensation.

"Oi! Hey, I'm talking to you," she called, while reaching up to snap her fingers a few feet in front of him. When this was ineffective, she snapped her wrist closer his face and had almost began waggling her fingers when he suddenly snapped out of his reverie and grabbed her arm. Hard.

Still seeming half out of it, he pulled at it, drawing her up from the bed nearly to eye-level with him. With their faces less than a foot apart now, he unleashed the full force of his obsidian eyes on her. Masma reevaluated. He was definitely not _out of it_ any more.

"In the future," he began, drawing her even closer, "you will refrain from approaching my person in such an abrupt manner."

His lashes lowered, a move that somehow managed to make his eyes completely avoid seeming at all attractive - like in all those tawdry romances her bookseller got her - and instead succeeded in making them look infinitely more dangerous. She could feel his breath fanning her face with every exhalation – another thing whose effect was vastly overstated in those books.

"Next time, you will not find yourself so lucky as merely restrained. Surprising me tends to have an…adverse…effect on my immediate surroundings," he continued.

Masma, considering the number of unpleasant things that could be covered under the umbrella of the word 'adverse' got even more alarmed. Then, not trusting herself to speak, nodded and squeaked.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

**A/N: For taking forever to update this story, hontoni gomenasai minna san. I experienced a combination of writer's block and life busy-ness. But I'm back now! To apologize for the delay, I'll make this chapter twice as long as usual (that's a good thing, right? I personally like long chapter updates, idk about you guys). **

**Opinions expressed by Itachi are those of Itachi only and do not reflect those of the author.**

**I don't own the characters either.**

**_Masma_**

After a long pause during which, it seemed to Masma, the Overlord made sure to hammer in his point by continuing to glare into her eyes (if only he would just _look_ into her eyes, like her romance book heroes rather than glare – not that she wanted him to or anything! It would just be more normal…) his hold on her forearm loosened. She was slowly lowered back onto the bed. However, he didn't completely relinquish his hold on her wrist. She would have looked down at her wrist, confused by his lingering touch, but she was still held captive by his glare. Contrary to what an onlooker would have assumed, rather than captivated by his eyes, she was instead deathly afraid of looking away from such a magnificent example of a full-on death stare. She felt that looking elsewhere at the moment would be much like turning your back on a snake. Or a starving tiger. The light, breathless panting, the coloring of her cheeks, her parted lips, these were all symptoms of the adrenalin pumping through her system in readiness for a f(l)ight for her life.

She hoped.

No, no, she knew.

She definitely knew.

She was also definitely getting a crick in her neck from staring up at him in fear.

It would be nice if he released her from the stare prison now.

In fact, it would probably be common decency.

Though her neck was only vaguely twinging right now, for all he knew, she was experiencing nigh unbearable pain. Why did he think it was okay to keep her staring up at him like this? What kind of person was this, anyway? He was being completely inconsiderate of her (greatly exaggerated) situation! This type of behavior was absolutely crimina-

Oh, right, yes. For a second she had forgotten that he was a bloodthirsty criminal. This behavior should be expected when dealing with these people.

Hang on.

Had she actually forgotten that she was dealing with criminal scum that was currently holding her here against her will? She was just squawki- err – complaining about it, like 10 minutes ago! Had she been measuring the overlord against the standards of a normal person? Even for 2 minutes?

This was terrible. She was developing that thing…the whatsit disorder that Lady Catherine had developed for the highwayman that kidnapped her in Love Not Withstanding (she'd given that one 3 stars and recommended it to her village book club). What was it called again? Stock disorder? Stock home disorder?

"Stockholm's Syndrome!" she shrieked.

**_Itachi_**

Overlord, whose face had been inching closer without either of them noticing – Masma because she'd been mid-epiphany and Itachi because he was extremely oblivious to her effect on him – got the full force of her shriek basically right in his eardrums.

He blinked.

Which was his version of dropping her hand and jumping back six feet with his hands over his bleeding ears. But this was Itachi.

His blinking was followed by:

"Calm yourself, woman."

Seeing that his only response was further eye-widening and heavier gasps, he decided that the best course of action was to remove himself from the vicinity of more squawking. Squawking that seemed ominously imminent.

Not that he was afraid of the mind-numbing ringing they caused in his ears or anything.

He just had to preserve his hearing.

In his line of work, catching the sound of a muffled footfall meant the difference between having a blade slide between your ribs and having a blade slide between someone else's.

This definitely was all to do with that and had nothing to do with the sharp pain he might be experiencing in his right ear.

Releasing her wrist, he moved back a step.

He chose to ignore how much he wanted to return his fingertips to her erratic pulse point. Which only interested him because it had an interesting rhythm, and not for any other reason. She probably had some sort of rodent-like disorder. Like a weak heart or something. This whole exercise had been an attempt to better understand the rodents anyway…right?

Truth be told, the details of how this entire fiasco began were cloudy on Itachi's part. He could not definitively point out a reason for having kidnap- err..no, they'd been calling it something else….

….

….

Well, anyway. He could not remember his reason for bringing her here very well, but he was a brilliant individual so he could trust that, whatever reason it was, it had been a good one. Mentally patting himself on the back by solving a possible personal crisis via his epic narcissism (once again), he put that tiny niggling doubt to rest. Honestly, he could never understand the rodents desire to label every self-serving personality trait as "bad". Narcissism had helped him out of several conundrums. It was all good in his eyes. Why would anyone not want to serve themselves?

For that matter, why would anyone not want to serve him? It was only right that one who was stronger and smarter (and better-looking) – 'no', he thought, 'cut the parentheses, they are merely a product of rodent shame rubbing off on me' – and better-looking than the rest was served. Not only by himself, but also by those around him. It could then be argued that by serving himself, he was providing a good example for the people.

Itachi's eyes imperceptibly widened with his epiphany. All this time, his selfishness and narcissism was actually altruism. He had been leading by example. Showing the people the right path. The path to himself. Ah, how great a person he was, that even in his own greatness, he could not conceive how very great he was. Indeed, this woman should be stunned that she is allowed in my presence, rather than sneer at the décor.

And with that thought, his tangential train of thought contemplating his own awesomeness was abruptly ended.

What exactly had she been deafening him with a couple of minutes ago?

Stockholm's Syndrome, was it?

Perhaps it was fueled by his good mood since his own opinion of himself had just shot up several levels (despite having thought he'd reached a ceiling with that), or perhaps it was fueled by the strange mood he'd been in for the past few weeks. Or perhaps it was a product of the frustration build up over the past hour of squabbling with this ro-..person. But something unthinkable happened.

Itachi smiled.

And just in time for Deidara to barrel back into the room and catch it.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Hey guys. Thanks for all your reviews and comments - I take them into consideration.**

"Speech"

_**Point of View**_

_Itachi smiled._

_And just in time for Deidara to barrel back into the room and catch it._

Silence reigned in the room for a good 30 seconds.

**_Deidara _**

Deidara had been checking up on the healer lady to see why she was taking so long to get here. Then he'd taken a detour to inform the kitchen staff that they should send some food up. He was sure that Itachi would completely overlook this detail despite the fact that Itachi claimed she was a guest and not a prisoner.

Frankly, he'd been intrigued by 'Tachi's behavior from the beginning. From the moment he'd snatched that grubby pickpocket's collar in the alley to the time he'd heaved the poor lady - Masma, was it? - onto his shoulder after knocking her out in the market. For the past few weeks, he'd grown more and more baffled as to why Itachi was suddenly taking an interest in one of the "rodents". Absorbed in musing over the possible reasons, he'd not really been fully present mentally when he opened the door to the dung- err… he had a feeling that there was another name they'd been calling it…

But now he was frozen in the doorway. Shocked beyond all reason, he merely stood there, mouth wide open, hardly blinking. In truth, he felt as if closing his eyes would erase the memory of what he'd just seen. And he never wanted to lose that. Ever. Contrary to his physical appearance, the cogs in Deidara's mind were currently whirling away at never-before-experienced speeds. The teasing possibilities alone…

He could hardly believe the sheer amount of material that he had obtained in this fraction of a second. He could keep annoying Itachi with this for years…no, decades…no, the rest of their lives!

What would Kakuzu say?!

He couldn't wait to tell them.

He couldn't wait to tell everyone!

Maybe he should even get in touch with his people over in the Eastern province. Ah, now that was guaranteed entertainment. Maybe it would even warrant a visit from him. After all, the only person who would be happier than Deidara himself to hear about this would be 'Tachi's own little brother…

A smirk spread over Deidara's face that Itachi thankfully did not see. There was only so much that he could take, and he was already mid-crisis.

**_Itachi _**

Itachi on the other hand, had more pressing concerns than Deidara's plans to cause him an ulcer. While at first he did not realize what he was doing, merely enjoying the moment, it was now trickling in that he had lost momentary control of his faculties. The mere fact that he had not known that the smile was going to happen was a major cause for concern. The fact that he had actually smiled… Not only was his body betraying him, but he had had no indication of its happening. Worse still, Deidara was witness to it. Even worse than that, Masma was right ther-

'_Masma_'?

Since when was the rodent peasant being referred to by her actual name?

The beginnings of true horror began to descend on Itachi's psyche. No matter what had happened in his life up until this point, his mind had been his sanctuary. He had never lost control of his mind. What was happening to him? What had changed?

And why was her presence in his moment of weakness worse than the one of his idiotic, but otherwise deadly (completely insane) minion?

His eyes wandered over to Masma, uncharacteristically glare-free.

What had she done to him?

**_Masma _**

Shortly after shrieking her thoughts out rather than thinking them, Masma existed in a dreamlike state. Firstly, she was completely floored by her strong suspicion that she had somehow acquired Stockholm's Syndrome. She was already envisioning a life spent in this barn, servile, catering to her captor's needs, trapped in a twisted, obsessive form of love. The horror…

Secondly, not only had her weak mind already given in to the pressures of captivity (which, now that she thought about it, hadn't really been that pressure-y) she had advertised her weakness. Now this Overlord idiot knew that she was harboring some weird twisted anomalous feelings of camaraderie for him. Smart move, Masma. So smart.

While her mind was still a-whirl with all these thoughts, and she was beginning to feel faint with the realization that she might be here a lot longer, an incredible thing happened.

Still looking up into Itachi's face, she caught the full brunt of it.

It began with a gradual decrease in the glare-quality of his eyes. Then, as if they weren't quite sure how to do it themselves, his lips began to twitch at the corners. Then, all of a sudden, a smile.

Itachi was smiling.

Not smirking.

Not sneering.

He was smiling at Masma.

Rather than making her feel even fainter, however, somehow, it was invigorating. Her adrenalin levels started ramping up again, and her blush came back in full force. This felt like the feeling she had when she was reading Love Notwithstanding and Lady Catherine ran into the highwayman as he walked out of the lake with only his sheer, sheer, underpants on.

But 600 times more intense.

However, mixed in with her sheer wonder at the smile was a niggling worry. In fact, rather than niggling, it was rather alarming. She was certain that she shouldn't have this opinion, it would only lead to trouble…

…but she found the smile beautiful.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

**_Deidara_**

Before the eighth wonder of the world could be wiped from Itachi's face, Deidara swept his bangs to the side and adjusted his mechanical eye. Moving with the speed he was well known for, it only took him a span of milliseconds to capture a handful of images and sweep his bangs back into place. Though it felt like he'd enjoyed 5 minutes of inner squealing since he barreled into the room, it had actually only been a couple of seconds.

Arguably the best 2 seconds of his life.

At least for now, that is. He was hoping that sharing these shots with a special someone would ensue in a bout of laughter that could compete aggressively.

It had been enough time that by now Itachi would be inwardly sighing at his appearance in the vicinity. Although his face and general demeanor never actually changed, Dei could always sense Itachi's version of exasperation whenever he was around. Surprisingly, however, Itachi hadn't shown any form of reaction. It was decidedly weird. But then again, Itachi was a weird guy.

Weird and scary. The cogs in Deidara's mind began to turn again.

Realizing that a lack of acknowledgement was probably the best thing that could happen for him now, Dei decided to begin sidling out of the room. An unstable Itachi, happy though he may seem, was unstable all the same.

Of course, in these circles, sidling consisted of melting away in the space between one blink and the next. Soon, the door slid shut on hastily-oiled hinges and assumed a suspiciously innocent look - as if it had never been opened at all.

**_Itachi_**

Slowly but surely, Itachi was beginning to fully understand the enormity of his situation. Unexpected facial twitches had made an appearance (already, he had begun to distance himself from the fact that it was a smile). In his view, left unchecked, this could only be followed by a slow descent into madness.

Now, Itachi believed that a slow controlled descent into calculated insanity was acceptable. It was even something that he triggered himself occasionally. For fun. Or, his version of it, at least. The bland, gray outlaw life that he endured through could get mindlessly boring from time to time. Sure, he was in it by choice but that was through the process of elimination. Rather than finding any joy in dominating the criminal world and crushing any obstacles into pathetic dust, he simply could not stand any of the other career choices. Ever since wandering into this world on what was mostly a whim, he had experienced work that did not drive him into a simmering murderous resentment almost instantly. He could still remember his first solo job; there had only been a mild feeling of ennui clouding the recollection. That was something he couldn't say about any of his other attempts at making "an honest living".

But he was getting away from himself. He'd been contemplating insanity in all its different shades and colors. He was decidedly against this tie-dye mish-mash version currently seeping into his mind. His superior intellect and control over his own mental state had allowed him to dabble in madness from time to time without any lasting effects on his "normal" state of mind. This current brand, however, was an unwelcome interloper.

He could already tell that the meditative techniques he employed to return to himself would not work here. Not when he could not immediately tell what had been changed about his thought process. Sometimes he made himself a tad more bloodthirsty so that he could enjoy the odd warlord stronghold massacre. Other times he adopted a more patient personality when he felt the need to play with his prey for longer than what his usually short fuse would allow. He could switch between mental states as casually as anyone could adjust eyeglass lenses. Of course it helped that rodents' view of "insanity" was entirely too broad.

A lot of the adjustments of perspective that he made as a product of boredom were simply that – adjustments of perspective. Simple alterations from "fear and blood, meh" to "fear and blood, very good". Why, just the other day he'd heard Deidara bending Kisame's ear about some new-fangled idea that there was such a thing as _post-traumatic stress syndrome _and that this was starting to be considered some sort of mental disease. He'd never heard something that was so worthy of a hearty scoff. It's not that he didn't believe in trauma or its infliction – it was an industry staple and a personal favorite. But the rodent physicians (vets?) were now claiming that following traumatic events, individuals suffered from a variety of symptoms including phobia developments and "hysterics" when confronted with "trigger" situations and objects. Itachi could hardly believe it when he heard it. It was clear that this was just the standard reaction to fear. Were these vets mentally incapable? Well, at least on a rodential level? If fire burns you, you fear it. Likewise, if the local loan shark doesn't pay his full tribute and you break all his limbs, he pays up. Then, whenever he sees you, or your lackeys, or a red cloud patterned fabric, it _triggers_ anxiety that serves to remind him that fire burns. This is not new. It is not even interesting. The vapidity of these new "advances in medicine" was nearly offensive. _Hysterics? _This wasn't the 3rd century for goodness sake. What next? An outbreak of _consumption_? Drugs to treat this anxiety disorder?-

Itachi blinked, wondering how he'd gotten into an internal diatribe on the inherent weakness of the rodent psyche and how it prevented them from treating their own psychological disorders with any acceptable level of efficacy-

There he went again.

This haphazard involuntary insanity was progressing in leaps and bounds. Since when did he care about the rodents' mental health?

_"Stockholm's Syndrome!"_

Of course, his now-glitchy brain chose this time to throw that flashback his way.

Damn it. Perhaps his sudden interest – and even loss of mental control - had to do with his recent and intense exposure to a rodent that was clearly suffering from a disorder (or five). He quickly put some distance between himself and the bed. Mental illnesses weren't usually contagious, but a lot of things that weren't supposed to happen had already happened today. What he really had to look out for was interacting with the vector on an intellectual level. The twisted nature of its thoughts was clearly worming past his carefully constructed mental blocks and scrambling his processes. Narrowing his eyes, which had long reverted to their "glare" setting, he regarded Masma for a few seconds then turned and left. Without seeming to cover the intervening distance between himself and the door. He was simply there one second and gone in the next.

**_Masma_**

After having an epiphany that more or less cemented her self-diagnosis, Masma decided that rather than bemoan the (potentially fatal) disease she now suffered from, she would fight it to the bitter end. First things first. Aversion therapy. Lady Catherine's handmaid had developed a regimen of punishments to help the good lady find that vagabond distasteful once more, hadn't she? What was the first one? A rubber band, probably. She'd given her a rubber band to wear on her wrist and snap whenever she thought that that vile man was handsome, or intriguing, or not bloodthirsty at all….

!

Masma needed a rubber band _right now._


End file.
